Page 42 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Rosamund moved forward, scanning the niches. "Is that?" Realizing what she was seeing, she screamed, then whirled about, pressing into Mr. Studborne’s chest.
Keeping his arm about her, he bent to inspect the ledge. “It’s alright. They’re old bones. After the abbey changed hands, they must have started using these as an adjunct to the main crypt.
“It’s horrible.” Rosamund had no desire to look—though the skull was picked clean.
How long did that take?
She shuddered to think, but it meant the body had been lying there a long time. It didn’t belong to anyone who’d lived in the house recently.
They stood, very still, for some moments.
The cold was seeping into Rosamund’s bones, as if reminding her that she, too, would come to this.
Somewhere not far off, water was dripping and there was a distant sound she couldn’t identify, almost like a hissing draught passing through. There would be ventilation, naturally…some holes to the outside. No doubt, the wind made strange noises through those openings.
“Let’s go the other way.” Rosamund tugged at the lapels of Mr. Studborne’s dressing gown. Even if the skeletons were ancient, she couldn’t bear the thought of breathing the air that surrounded them.
He didn’t need asking twice.
The other direction soon took them into a much larger chamber, the ceiling curving in repetitive arcs above row after row of pillars, with stone vaults between.
“We should walk the circumference,” said Mr. Studborne. “It’ll be the best way of finding a way out.”
Nodding, Rosamund walked behind, this time keeping her hand upon his back.
It felt reassuring.
He was reassuring.
She would never have dared remain alone.
Somewhere, among the vaults, the last duchess was entombed. If Rosamund were to marry the duke, she’d be alongside, one day. The thought made her shiver.
Was Bessie here too? Unconscious or…Rosamund didn’t like to think what else. There were too many dark places. She’d thought herself brave enough to try finding her—but she’d been wrong.
At last, Mr. Studborne stopped. There was an opening between the tombs: a narrow tunnel, its walls bare earth, the roof supported by wooden posts.
“Where does it lead, do you think?” Rosamund peered in.
“I’ve no idea. A route for smuggling goods in and out, maybe—but it’s clearly defunct, and I don’t like the look of those props. They could be rotten.” He turned, resting his back against the wall. “We’ll keep looking. There might be something else.”
Rosamund placed her hand upon his arm. He was here very much against his will and, though he’d every right to be angry, he was remaining in good humour. “I’m glad you’re with me.”
She gave a half-smile. “It’s all rather grim.”
“Definitely grim. I wonder at my uncle wanting to spend so much time in this place.”
His uncle.
Rosamund realized she’d not given the duke a thought the whole time they’d been down here.
“Come along now.” Offering the crook of his arm he tucked her hand beneath it. “Don’t give up hope yet.”
Steadily,they made their way around the outer edge of the chamber. Though she was putting a brave face on things he could tell she was rattled. The best he could do was chatter on about anything at all unrelated to the present situation.
He started with the latest methods of thatching cottages on the estate before recounting his interviewing of candidates for the second teaching position at the village school. Getting desperate, he moved on to the best time for dipping sheep and, to cap it all, he might have told her about pig husbandry.
Unsurprisingly, she didn’t say much but he was sure he heard her giggle; it might have been when he’d used the word "pizzle".
